


Through The Years

by tonys



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Canon Simply Does Not Exist, Multi, Natasha and Tony are siblings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:54:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26030731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tonys/pseuds/tonys
Summary: Tony brings home Natasha one day, proclaiming her to be his new sister.Natasha takes this all in stride.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Tony Stark, Natasha Romanoff & Tony Stark, Natasha Romanoff/Pepper Potts
Comments: 58
Kudos: 201





	Through The Years

**Author's Note:**

> I ignore, like... 85% of MCU canon, haha. 
> 
> Thank you to [Chop](https://chop-chop-im-cookin-up-a-hotpot.tumblr.com/), my best friend, for looking this over and informing me of any typos! Any remaining mistakes are mine and mine alone!

Tony is 8 and Natasha is 12 when Tony brings Natasha home for the first time.

“Mamma!” he brightly exclaims as soon as Maria opens the door, holding up one of his hands that is intertwined with one of Natasha’s. “This is Natasha! She helped me while I was walkin’ home from school today.” Before Maria can say anything, Tony is already rushing past her, dragging his newfound friend into the living room with him. He leads her to the rather lavish, cream-colored couch that’s bigger than necessary and tells her to sit down, letting go of her hand.

“Some’a the kids at school were followin’ me and sayin’ bad things to me,” Tony starts to explain as he takes off his patent leather shoes, remembering what his mother said about tracking dirt into the house. “But Natasha made ‘em go away. Then she said she’d keep walkin’ with me so that I’d get home all safe. She was really awesome!”

Natasha’s pale cheeks flush, almost as if she’s embarrassed about the praise Tony is singing about her. She quietly takes off her own battered and beaten shoes, a neon blue bandaid sitting right above her left ankle. With her wild red hair and skinny arms, it’s hard to think of her as someone who would be able to shoo away a group of rowdy 8-year-olds.

Tony finally joins her on the couch, sighing as he sinks into the cushions. “Mamma, I think Natasha should be my sister,” he says with a decisive nod. “I like her. She can have the room nex’ to mine and everything!”

Maria’s head still feels like it’s spinning from Tony’s explanation of what happened, so she settles for a smile as she walks over after locking the door. “It is good that Natasha helped you, ‘Tonio.” She rests a caring hand on Tony’s cheek, and he leans into it with childish affection. “I have no doubt that she would make a good sister–” she glances at Natasha, whose flush seems to have gotten even deeper– “but she probably has a family of her own, _bambino_. You bringing her here… what if her parents are worried?” she gently scolds.

Tony’s eyebrows furrow as guilt spreads across his features. “Oh.” That’s all he says.

Before Maria can offer any soothing words, Natasha speaks up. It’s so soft that Maria has to strain her ears to hear her: “I don’t have any parents.” Both Maria and Tony turn to look at her, but she keeps her gaze on a spot on the carpet a few inches to the right of the coffee table in front of her. “No family. Well, I live with an aunt, but…” Natasha bites her bottom lip. “She’s not very nice.”

Maria’s heart clenches at how _raw_ the girl looks like right now. Her eyes hold a deep sadness that she is far too young to be harboring.

Tony doesn’t even think before he wraps his arms around Natasha’s shoulders, a soft distressed noise leaving his throat. He continues to hug her until Natasha pushes him away, the beginnings of a smile on her face.

And yet, Maria notices, the smile does not reach her eyes.

(Howard snorts, gesturing vaguely with a crystal tumbler in his hand. “Another child? Anthony is already a handful, and you want to bring in another child?”

Maria’s jaw sets, eyes alight with a determined flame. “I am not asking that we adopt her, Howard–not yet. I am asking that we at least give her a place to stay.” She shakes her head, thinking back to the scene on the couch earlier. “I would not feel comfortable sending her back to her aunt. She almost cried, Howard. At the very least, she should be able to sleep without being scared!”

It isn’t until Howard looks at her, eyebrows raised, that Maria realizes how passionate she sounded. “Whatever,” he mutters. “Just know that she is _your_ responsibility.”)

Tony is 10 and Natasha is 14 when the papers go through and Natasha goes from being a Romanoff to a Stark. It’s kept quiet from the press, thanks to Howard’s exorbitant amounts of money.

Maria hugs her, warm and motherly. Tony excitedly latches onto her side, talking her ear off about all the cool things they can do now that they’re brother and sister. Hell, even Howard begrudgingly says something about how she does seem like a nice girl.

All of that, of course, makes it harder for Natasha to tell them the truth: she’s a spy. And an assassin. Or at least she was. She blurts it out the second they step foot back into the house. _It’s better they know now_ , she thinks, _instead of years down the line_. She would never do anything to hurt them–never–but they deserve to know. If it results in her being kicked out, well… the past 2 years have been the best of her life.

Maria, at first, is horrified. She immediately ushers Tony away while he’s still too shocked to protest ( _To protect him_ , Natasha realizes, _from her. Just in case_ ). Natasha braces herself, ready for Maria to yell and scream at her, but all she does is sigh heavily, eyes turning downcast. “You are so young,” she says, sounding pained, “and you do all that?”

Natasha inhales, eyes flickering between Maria and Howard. “I used to. The organization–the place I worked for, I ran away.” She waits for any interjection, any sign that she’s not welcome in the house anymore–not welcome around _Tony_ –but none comes. So she continues. “I guess they never caught up. I lied by omission, I guess. Doesn’t make it any better, but I figured I should tell you guys now.” More silence. “And, just so you know, I wouldn’t have hurt any of you.”

Surprisingly, it’s Howard that speaks up next. “Why don’t you work for S.H.I.E.L.D?” he offers.

“Howard!” Maria gasps, scandalized. “She just got out of that life and you–and you want to put her back in it? And she’s so young–”

“S.H.I.E.L.D is a hell of a lot safer a bet than whatever hack job organization she was running with originally! They must not be that good if they can lose a child,” he shoots back. “Protection–we can protect her there. She can help this country, atone for her past!”

Maria’s face is openly appalled. “She is _14_ –”

“I’ll do it,” Natasha interjects, jaw set in determination when Maria and Howard–mom and dad, she corrects–look at her. “I’m proficient in over 7 different styles of martial arts, along with receiving specialized marksman training. My entire life, I grew up immersed in the arts of espionage.” She squares her shoulders, like she senses a challenge. “I can do it.”

(“You’re an assassin. Does that mean you’ve killed people, Nat?” Tony asks, innocently enough, as he scribbles down measurements and observations about a weapon he’s taken apart to study.

An ugly sound tears itself from Natasha’s throat, somewhere between a snarl and a growl. “Don’t ask that question, Tony.”

Tony flinches. “Sorry. Sorry, I won’t–sorry.” He bites his bottom lip, worrying the already fragile skin there.)

Tony is 14 and Natasha is 18 when Tony gets accepted to M.I.T.

Natasha insists on accompanying him under the alias of “Natalie Rushman.” They fudge her papers, place her in classes that’s she’s never going to have to attend, and put her up in an apartment off campus. Howard asks about what’s going to happen should they need her at S.H.I.E.L.D. She says they should be fine, but if it’s truly an emergency, then they can call.

She hangs out around Tony, saying that she’s his old tutor who was positively ecstatic when she found out that Tony would be attending the same college that she does and decided to take him under her wing the second he stepped on campus.

Tony resists at first, saying that it feels too much like she’s babysitting him. “I’m not 8 anymore, Nat,” he grumbles as he spins around in one of the spinny-chairs he has in his dorm. “You don’t need to protect me everywhere I go.”

Then a few days later, because the universe likes laughing at him, a bigger, older student tries to pick a fight with him. They taunt him, saying that he only got into M.I.T because of _daddy’s name_ and _daddy’s money_. He can barely hear over the blood rushing in his ears; all of the shit he’s been through, all of his hard work, and there are still people out there who only see him as Howard’s brat, Howard’s son who relies on _dad_ to do everything for him.

He turns around to shout something back, something even more inciting, but Natasha’s already there–and she has the bully on their knees, twisting their arm around their back. “That’s not very nice,” he hears Natasha whisper, venom dripping from every word. “I know you were trying to invoke him. Trying to get him to swing at you so you have an excuse. That’s pathetic.” She lets them go and they fall face-first onto the ground, a puff of dirt billowing up. Some students stop to watch. A couple have their phones out.

“Go,” she says coldly, stepping over their body. “Don’t let me see you around him again.”

Tony whistles as they get up and scurry away, not daring to look back. “I take back what I said,” he says, shoving both of his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “I guess it’s good to have you around.”

She gets him into a headlock and ruffles his hair.

Tony is still 14 and Natasha is still 18 when she meets Rhodey, Tony’s roommate and future best-friend-for-life for the first time.

 _He’s nice_ , she determines when Rhodey greets her with a genuine smile and a firm handshake. “I’m glad there’s someone else looking out for Tony. It feels like a full-time job sometimes,” she says, placing a hand on Tony’s shoulder.

Tony shrugs her hand off, pouting petulantly. “I’m not that bad.”

Rhodey laughs again. “Tones, you wrote an angrily-worded letter to a teacher after you said they, and I quote, ‘explained thermonuclear dynamics like a drunk orangutan.’”

“Because they did!”

Tony is 15 and Natasha is 19 when they decide to tell Rhodey the truth.

“It’s only fair that you know, man.” Tony continues fiddling with his seat, making himself go up and down and up and down. “You’re gonna have to sign some NDAs and stuff, but yeah. Technically Natalie is my sister. And she’s the best spy in the business.” There’s a hint of pride in that last sentence.

Rhodey’s eyes narrow as he looks from Natasha to Tony and back to Natasha again. “This feels like an elaborate practical joke,” he mutters. He further scrutinizes them, but apparently finds no evidence to support his thoughts. “So, Tones, with all of this…” he looks at Natasha, “is Natalie even your real name?”

Natasha simply smiles.

Tony is 17 and Natasha is 21 when Tony graduates M.I.T with a degree in electrical engineering.

She takes a jet straight after finishing a mission in Germany. Sure, she’s a tad bit sleep-deprived and she has some bruises on her ribs, but like hell is she going to miss Tony’s graduation.

“Good job.” Natasha takes off his cap and ruffles his hair once again. “I’m proud of you.” Howard and Maria have already given Tony their congratulations; she can still see Maria’s lipstick stains on Tony’s cheek. No matter how much he scrubs, they wouldn’t come off.

Tony beams up at her with so much pride and admiration in his face that it feels like she’s the one that’s graduating. “I should thank you, you know. Um, you really… you really helped me.” When Rhodey wasn’t available, it was Natasha who helped him deal with the stress of his entirely-too-large workload. It was Natasha who listened to him list off his insecurities–his fear of never being good enough–and helped him work through them. It was Natasha who guided him with a firm, yet gentle hand. “I’m… I’m glad that you stayed with us.”

Natasha smiles. “I’m glad that I stayed.”

Tony hugs her (not seeing her wince) before running off to join his friends.

Tony is 20 and Natasha is 24 when their parents die.

Tony freezes when they’re told the news. She can almost hear the gears in his brain turning, trying desperately to comprehend what he’s just been told. Then, he runs to his room like a scolded child, slamming the door behind him and rattling the pictures hanging on the walls.

Natasha’s shoulders deflate. Maria and Howard might have not been her biological parents, but they were there. They took care of her–spoiled her, in her opinion. Any normal child living a normal life probably would’ve never worried about getting enough to eat or having enough clean clothes to wear, but Natasha is far from normal. All of the things they gave her were _precious_.

(Okay, maybe it was more Maria than Howard, but at least Howard gave her a place in S.H.I.E.L.D and never really complained.)

She gives herself 10 minutes before she goes after Tony. As she approaches, soft sobs slip out from underneath his door (which still has the T-O-N-Y stickers in red and gold they stuck up there on his 11th birthday), and it makes her heart squeeze. It seems… wrong for Tony to cry. He’s usually so full of life that it just… it’s wrong.

She gently knocks on the door thrice. Tony doesn’t respond, but she opens it anyway.

The room is pitch black, save for the moonlight filtering in through the window. Her eyes land on Tony’s trembling form, curled up on tightly on his bed that he looks more like a blob than an actual living person. “Not now, Nat,” he croaks, sniffling.

Natasha sighs, walking into his room and sitting down on the edge of his bed.

He shies away.

It hurts, but she tries not to let it show. “Tony, I’m not going to let you sit there and wallow–”

“Don’t pretend,” he cuts her off.

She swallows. “Don’t pretend?”

“Don’t pretend like you’re not affected!” he snaps, looking up at her with puffy, bloodshot eyes. “They were _your_ parents too, Nat. My mom was your mom too.”

Natasha feels the wall she doesn’t even know she put up crack. She doesn’t–she didn’t–she can’t cry. That’s weak. (A small voice at the back of her head–Maria’s voice–tells her that it’s okay to cry. It’s natural. She shouldn’t hold it in.) But Tony’s words bounce and bounce and _bounce_ around in her mind.

She watches as Tony rubs at his right eye with the heel of his palm.

“I’m not pretending,” she says, voice cracking at the end. She feels a tear slip out. “I’m not pretending.”

(The funeral service, to put it nicely, sucked. No one really knew who Natasha was, just that she seemed to be a friend of Tony’s. No one consoled her. No one told her that “Howard and Maria should be proud that they raised such a fine child.” Everyone focused on Tony. Everyone only _knew_ Tony. She doesn’t resent him for that. She’s not jealous. But it would’ve been nice to hear someone– _anyone_ –tell her that everything’ll be alright in the end.

She gives the paparazzi deadly glares as she escorts Tony away from the service, hiding his face with her black jacket. “Vultures, all of them,” she hisses.

Underneath the jacket, Tony chuckles.)

Tony is 21 and Natasha is 25 when Tony becomes the CEO of Stark Industries, taking over Obadiah, an old family friend that Natasha never particularly liked.

“I don’t know,” Tony says, scrubbing the side of his face with his hand. “I’m not sure if this’ll work.” He stares down at the prototype of a missile system he’s working on. Jericho, he calls it.

“The weapon or the demonstration?” she asks from her spot curled up on a couch he has sitting down in the SI lab, scrolling down some webpage that claims to have the juiciest gossip on the most relevant celebrities of today. It’s her guilty pleasure; sue her.

“Both,” Tony admits sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. He’s always been charming, he’s always known how to play to a crowd, but this would be his first major sale since… since the accident. It’d be his first major sale as the CEO. He needs to prove himself. Needs to show everyone that he’s more than just Howard Stark’s son. He’ll be the one to bring about world peace.

He can’t see it, but he just knows that Natasha is rolling her eyes. “It’ll be fine, Antoshka. You’re a smart man.”

He preens. Just a little.

“Plus, Rhodey’ll be there, right? It’ll be impossible for you to make a fool of yourself then.”

He pouts. Just a little.

Tony is still 21 and Natasha is still 25 when they meet Virginia “call me Pepper” Potts, a potential candidate to be Tony’s personal assistant.

“You should hire her,” Natasha says breathlessly after Pepper leaves her interview. She watches as the other’s perfectly styled ponytail swings side to side. “Her previous experience is much more extensive than the other candidates, plus her references had nothing but good things to say about her. She seems like the kind of professional, put-together person that you desp–”

“You think she’s _pretty~_ ” Tony lilts, giving her a shit-eating grin. He barely manages to get out of range when she swipes at him and laughs. “Don’t worry, I was already planning on hiring her anyway. She does seem like–what were you going to say–’the kind of professional, put-together person that I desperately need’?”

Natasha scoffs, kicking at his shin.

“I smell an office romance!” he giggles.

She kicks at him some more.

(Natasha does end up asking her out, but makes it clear that Pepper doesn’t have to accept if she doesn’t want to.

Pepper accepts, thankfully, and their first date is spent at eating at a deli and feeding the ducks at Central Park.

As Pepper laughs, Natasha thinks she’s never seen anyone more beautiful.)

Tony is 22 and Natasha is 26 when the Jericho demonstration does not go fine.

Rhodey calls her in a panic, saying that they lost Tony in Afghanistan after being attacked.

Her blood runs cold, heart plummeting to her stomach. She’s already lost Maria and Howard. If she loses Tony too, then… she doesn’t know what she’ll do. Her tentative relationship with Pepper is put on hold as she commandeers one of S.H.I.E.L.D’s jets and makes her way to Afghanistan as quickly as she can. Pepper, of course, has questions. Many of them, in fact. Such as: what is S.H.I.E.L.D and why does she seem to have so much pull in there? What is she hoping to achieve in Afghanistan that the U.S. Army can’t? _Who is Tony to her_?

Natasha promises to answer all of her questions when she comes back.

“It’s my fault,” Rhodey mumbles in the humvee on their way to the base, wiping tiredly at his eyes. “I left him alone. If I was with him–”

“You would have gotten killed,” Natasha says sympathetically, placing a comforting hand on Rhodey’s knee, “and that wouldn’t help him at all.” His guilt rolls off of him in waves, and she can tell that it’s eating him alive. She knows how that feels like.

Rhodey shakes his head and sighs for what seems like the nth time today. “Let’s just hope we find him.”

“That’s all we can hope.” She tries not to think about what might be happening to Tony. If his kidnappers were ballsy enough– _powerful enough_ –to get to him past an armed escort, then there’s no telling what they’re capable of doing to him.

Tony’s not a trained spy. He doesn’t have the pain tolerance built up through years of harsh training. And he’s–he’s so _stubborn_ , so firm in his stances that Natasha thinks nothing short of death would get him to cooperate.

She tries not to think about them finding a limp, breathless body.

(“They keep telling me to give up,” Rhodey whispers to her when they’re alone, an edge of frustration to his voice. “They keep telling me that he’s dead. That it’s a waste of resources–a waste of my time. But he’s not dead. I can–I can feel it, you know?”

Natasha nods solemnly. “I know.”

For both of their sakes, she hopes that he’s right.)

Tony is still 22 and Natasha is still 26 when they find Tony wandering the desert, 3 months later.

It’s Rhodey that spots him first, doing a double-take when he sees a figure frantically waving their arms in the sand down below.

“Tony?! Oh my god, that’s Tony!” he yells so loudly that Natasha is sure that they didn’t need the headsets to hear him all the way in the cockpit. “Land! Land right now!” He looks like he’s seconds away from jumping out of the helicopter himself, the vein in his neck bulging.

They land quick, the helicopter’s blades roaring above their head. She doesn’t even have time to unbuckle her seatbelt before Rhodey’s already jumping out, running with a couple of other soldiers towards… towards Tony.

By the time she’s out, Rhodey and Tony are embracing like a father and his child, Tony’s arms around Rhodey’s neck. Rhodey holds Tony tightly, bringing him close like he’s afraid Tony’s gonna fly away if he lets go.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she hears him sob. It breaks her heart. “It’s my–it’s my–”

“No, Tones, no.” Rhodey pulls away from Tony, cupping the man’s face in his gloved hands. A bolt of shock jolts through Natasha’s body when she takes in how skinny his face is. “S’not your fault. None of this–none of what happened–is your fault.”

Tony closes his eyes and shakes his head, not believing a word of what Rhodey says. Natasha takes that time to kneel down next to the duo. “Hey, Tony,” she says softly.

Tony’s eyes fly open. “Nat?” His voice sounds downright pitiful as he stares at her with disbelieving wide eyes. “You’re… here, am I hallucinating?”

Rhodey manages to laugh, although it’s more to lighten the mood than to express amusement. “No. She’s really here. Stole a S.H.I.E.L.D jet and everything.”

“ _Commandeered_ a jet, Colonel Rhodes,” she amends.

Rhodey grins. “She stole it.”

Tony doesn’t say anything, looking at the both of them in a dazed confusion, mouth slightly agape. “So–so… this has nothing to do with how I haven’t had anything to drink for the last few days?”

Natasha raises an eyebrow.

A split second later, she finds herself with an armful of Tony. He’s shaking so badly that Natasha is afraid he’s gonna turn himself into the sand that surrounds them. Rhodey is stroking Tony’s neck, whispering comforting words as Tony continues to shiver.

Part of Natasha hopes that the people who did this to him are still alive.

She wants to kill them herself.

Tony is still 22 and Natasha is still 26 when Tony tells her about the arc reactor and the shrapnel. About Yinsen. About him being Iron Man.

“I shouldn’t be alive,” he says, sounding far too fragile than she’s comfortable with. If she takes a step closer, he looks like he might break. “Unless it was for a reason. I’m not crazy, Nat. I just finally know what I have to do, and in my heart… I know it’s right.”

Natasha swallows. Her little brother–god, that’s weird–is out there, barely old enough to drink, risking his life on a daily basis to try and make up for the things he did before, all the weapons and the bloodshed and… and it reminds her of her.

She has yet to see if that’s a good thing.

(They also decide to tell Pepper and Harold “Happy” Hogan, Tony’s sort-of bodyguard, the truth about their relationship.

“Oh. So, I’m dating your sister,” Pepper says calmly, but Natasha knows that she’s exploding inside with even more questions. Happy looks at Pepper weirdly, like he can’t believe that peppy, sprightly Pepper is dating brooding, silent Natasha. Natasha can’t say she blames him.

“Okay. That’s… okay. I’ll be good to her, Tony.” Pepper smiles reassuringly, but Natasha can tell it’s more like she’s reassuring herself than her brother. It’s not everyday that you find out that your girlfriend also happens to be the adopted sister of your boss who could probably buy your entire life with a snap of his fingers.

Yeah. She can see how that might be strange.

“You better be!” Tony exclaims with no real heat behind it. He likes Pepper too much to actually threaten her.)

Tony is still 22 and Natasha is still 26 when they find out Obadiah Stane was behind Tony’s kidnapping and subsequent torture.

Natasha wasn’t there when Pepper pushed the button that fried Obadiah, but god she wishes that she was.

(Tony reveals who he is shortly after.

“Is he always like this?” Coulson exasperatedly asks Natasha. The reporters are busy yelling and screaming and shouting, nearly trampling each other in an attempt to get closer to Tony. Tony looks over at the two of them and actually smiles, that idiot.

Natasha smirks. “You have no idea.”)

Tony is 23 and Natasha is 27 when Tony starts dying from palladium poisoning.

He doesn’t tell anyone. Only J.A.R.V.I.S knows. Rhodey… Rhodey kind of knows. The only thing he’s aware of is that the palladium burns quick, it burns ugly, and it leaves a stupid-looking futuristic crossword puzzle crawling up his neck.

Tony goes on a bender. Starts drinking heavily even though he would barely _touch_ a wine cooler when he was younger (thanks to Natasha). He shows up to board meetings sloshed and his signatures are barely legible.

(He locks himself in his lab and sobs, clawing at his chest and cursing the ironic powers that be for bestowing upon him an object that simultaneously saves and kills him.)

He makes Pepper C.E.O when she comes down to his lab to confront him about his recent behavior. Immediately, she asks if he’s okay. She places a cool palm on Tony’s forehead. “You’re scaring me, Tony,” she chokes out. They haven’t been working together for that long, but she sees Tony as the little brother she’s never had. “The way you’re acting… it’s like you’re dying.”

Tony scoffs, swatting away Pepper’s hand. “M’not, don’t worry. You won’t be getting rid of me that easily.” Now would be a good test of the acting skills Natasha taught him when they were younger. “Just… I don’t think I can handle the stress of running SI and, you know, doing the _other_ thing at the same time.”

Pepper nods stiffly. She doesn’t fully believe him, he can tell, but she also doesn’t want to push the matter further. She steps back, giving Tony space. “C.E.O?” she sniffs, the corner of her mouth curling up in partial amusement.

“Yes!” he enthusiastically shouts, sounding relieved. “Ms. C.E.O, I think we need to celebrate!” He waves a hand, and DUM-E comes rolling in, chirping happily while carrying a platter of sliced meats and cheeses. U follows close behind with a bucket filled to the brim with ice, a bottle of expensive champagne, and 2 crystal wine glasses.

(People start to speculate as to why Tony would step down as C.E.O of SI when they’re just starting to build their stocks up again. Pepper, poor Pepper, is just pretty enough that they start saying she’s Tony’s illicit lover who’s taking advantage of his loneliness to take over Stark Industries.

“As if!” Tony throws the paper into the trash, hands clapping together the second it lands. “I don’t see how people can believe this bullshit!”

Pepper snickers, daintily covering her laughter with a hand. “I know! You’re not even my type.”

Natasha strolls over, pressing a kiss to Pepper’s temple. “We all know you prefer redheads.” She sits herself down in Pepper’s lap, tucking her head under Pepper’s chin.

Tony groans, turning his entire body away from the affectionate couple. “My god, get a room!”)

He lets Rhodey take the Iron Man armor. He wasn’t even drunk; all he had in that flask was a bunch of apple juice, but acting drunk was cathartic in a way.

He hears the pain in Rhodey’s voice when Rhodey tells him that he doesn’t need to do this.

All he remembers after that is a bright flash, Rhodey taking off, and then darkness. He doesn’t know how long he lies in the rubble that used to be his living room, but he does know that he’d fucked up.

(“You’re dying,” Natasha hisses, slamming both of her hands down on his desk. Despite the sting in her words, her eyes are soft, if a bit calculating. “Does anyone else know?”

Tony doesn’t even flinch, eyes looking around the room–looking at anything but her. He expected this kind of reaction. “No,” he grits out. “Only me. And J.A.R.V.I.S. And now you. How did you know?” He swore J.A.R.V.I.S to secrecy and made sure to leave nothing lying about that could even suggest that he’s ill.

“We know the symptoms of palladium poisoning, Antoshka,” Natasha says, gently now.

Tony tilts his head. “We?”

At that moment, the door slides open. A rather severe-looking African-American man walks in, a patch over his left eye. “You’re not an easy man to get an audience with, Stark.”

Tony’s face flashes with betrayal, and Natasha would feel bad for being the one who put it there if she didn’t think that Tony needed this. “I told you, I don’t want to join your super-secret boy band,” he mumbles, sinking in his seat.

Fury grins.)

He synthesizes a new element, thanks to Howard (and somewhat thanks to the pain-in-the-ass Nick Fury).

It feels good. His blood no longer feels like acid and he can _breathe_ , damn it.

He’s never felt better.

(“Natasha was the one who recommended you, you know,” Fury says, tapping his fingers on the metal desk melodically.

Tony thinks back to Natasha calling S.H.I.E.L.D a “circus run by monkeys–except that monkeys would probably do better!” and snorts.

Fury picks up a pen and twirls it slowly, never taking his eye off of Tony. “She sees something in you, Stark. I don’t know what it is, but she sees something.” He places the pen down with a click. “Don’t disappoint her.”)

Tony is 24 and Natasha is 28 when the Avengers are assembled.

Natasha can’t say that she’s fond of the way Steve talks to Tony like he’s not deserving of his title, but she tries to keep her cool. The last thing she needs is for them to bombard her with questions as to why she’s so defensive of Tony.

But, just to let the others know that Tony is under _her_ protection, she lets them see the way she brushes his bangs from his eyes, the way she allows him to sprawl over her on the couch, and the way she generally lets him get away with things that she would flay other people alive for.

(“You think she likes Stark?” Steve grunts, leaning his hip against a table in some lab that S.H.I.E.L.D set them up in and crossing his arms. Things could get complicated if she does, and they really don’t need anything else to add to the volatile stew that is their team chemistry.

Bruce clicks his tongue and makes a show of stepping away from Steve. “Sorry, but I’m not about to get involved in that kind of speculation,” he says, although his tone doesn’t make him seem actually apologetic. He rubs his hands together. “But, um, speculation about that blue-glowy thingy? I’m all up for that.”)

Their confusion amuses her. Yes, she knows all about the theories they have about her and Tony’s relationship. (She tries not to retch every time she hears one.) They need to tell the others soon.

But for now, she supposes she can have some fun in confusing them even more. When Pepper visits, she makes sure to up her usual affectionate gestures whenever they’re in eyesight of one of the Avengers. Back hugs, kisses on the cheek and temple, and whispers of sweet nothings in Pepper’s ear.

(“Perhaps they are all in a relationship together,” Thor offers, shrugging his shoulders. “It is not an uncommon practice on Asgard, as long as all parties consent. I have seen relationships that consist of more than 2 people.”

Steve stares at the table. Bruce continues to tap at some hologram. “Speculation,” Bruce sighs out.)

Tony is still 24 and Natasha is still 28 when Tony does something stupidly heroic–emphasis on _stupid_ –and flies a nuke into a wormhole.

The right side of her head is matted with blood and sweat, and the left corner of her mouth stings like nothing else. Her head continues to pound as she throws the scepter to the ground. Everything fucking hurts.

But none of that pain compares to watching as Tony falls out of that wormhole, body limp.

(She’s just glad he was able to fall out before it closed, because if he got stuck up there, she’d have to live knowing that she’s the reason.)

Thor swings by, carrying her down to the ground, but her eyes stay glued on Tony. She knows she’s gripping onto Thor’s bicep a bit too hard, her nails digging into his skin, but he’s a god. He can take it.

Banner, thankfully, doesn’t seem inclined to let Tony turn into a red-and-gold splat on the pavement as he catches Tony’s falling body before it hits the ground. She rubs at her forehead, stress building up in the back of her head.

She, Thor, and Steve run over and kneel near his body. Thor rips off Tony’s mask, revealing his pale face, both of his eyes closed. Quietly, she gasps, sitting down on the backs of her legs, eyes raking up and down his body. She takes in the damage done to his suit and prays that Tony’s just unconscious instead of… instead of something else.

Steve leans over Tony’s chest, trying to hear a heartbeat or the sound of breathing or anything that would say Tony’s alive.

Tony doesn’t open his eyes.

Before Natasha–or Steve, if the way he’s staring intently at Tony’s mouth is anything to go by–can start on CPR, Banner roars and Tony is jolted awake with a gasp.

“Alright, hey!” Tony says weakly after being informed of their victory. “Good job guys. And Nat!” He does a pathetic attempt at a finger gun, barely able to lift his hand more than a few inches off the ground.

Natasha snorts. She’d hit him on the forehead if she wasn’t afraid of some underlying injury.

He struggles to swallow, smacking his lips before talking. “You ever try shawarma? There’s a shawarma joint about 2 blocks from here.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Steve smile. Maybe they’ll get along after all.

Tony is still 24 and Natasha is still 28 when Tony is thought dead after an attack on his Malibu mansion–an attack that Natasha knew was going to come, but couldn’t do anything about.

“He could still be alive,” she says as a statement rather than a bid to placate, wrapping her arm around Pepper’s waist as they stare out of a window in some hotel room that Pepper booked. She’s seen Tony get up and dust himself off after a near-death incident one too many times for her to be comfortable with, but it gives her hope that he’s survived. It’s gonna take more than a few missiles and half of his mansion to take down Tony.

Pepper wipes at the corner of her eyes. “I’m going back to the mansion in the morning–or what–what was the mansion. I’ll see if… if there’s anything we can save.” Her sniffles die down, and she leans into Natasha’s hold.

(Then Pepper tells her about the message Tony left her. He’s alive.

That’s all Natasha needs to know.)

Tony is still 24 and Natasha is still 28 when Pepper is kidnapped, injected with Extremis, is subsequently removed of any trace of Extremis, and Tony gets the shrapnel removed.

Tony dusts off DUM-E and U and Butterfingers, cooing something about how they’re okay, how dad’s here. “I’m still Iron Man, you know!” Tony says to the both of them, twirling around in his seat before fitting a DUNCE cap on DUM-E.

“You’re a child, is what you are,” Pepper teases. She bites her bottom lip afterward to keep herself from bursting into another round of tears. It’s been an emotional sort of week.

Natasha kisses her cheek, returning her girlfriend’s grateful smile. “I agree with Pepper.” She tucks a stray lock of Pepper’s hair behind her ear.

“Unfair!” Tony protests, bursting their reality bubble. “She’s your girlfriend, of course you’re always gonna agree with her!”

Tony is 26 and Natasha is 30 when Natasha finds out the truth of how their parents died.

Steve gulps. “I don’t think we should tell Tony about this,” he whispers to Natasha, hand on her forearm. They’re so close to finding Bucky–so goddamn _close_ –and this revelation certainly throws a wrench into their plans. “If he finds out, he would never–”

Natasha swallows down a ball of fury. “Tell him,” she says sharply, looking at him with as much fire as she can muster. He blinks, grip loosening. “You need to tell him. You think his reaction right now will be bad?–” she shakes her head, glare never leaving his face– “It will pale in comparison to his reaction if you keep hiding this from him and he has to find out himself.” She thinks back to her own painful confession she made back when she was younger, the kind of confession that can break families. She’s just grateful it didn’t break hers.

Steve purses his lips. “Why can’t you tell him then?” He holds out the flip phone and waggles it insistently.

She pushes it to the side, unwilling to let Steve run away from this. If she was able to make that confession when she was 14, he can do it now. “It’s not _my_ best friend that did this. I’m not the one using Tony’s money to fund this chase. Tell him, Rogers.” She jabs at his chest with a finger, ignoring the way he winces. “Or I’ll make you.”

Steve closes his eyes and takes a few deep breaths, exhaling slowly on the last one. He flips open the phone with just enough force to not break it in half and dials a number. “Tony?” he says into the receiver, eyes flickering to Natasha, “We need to talk. In person.”

A satisfied smile works its way onto her face.

(The smile drops when Steve turns his back. She clutches at her chest, a burning in there she hasn’t felt since that cold December night.

 _It wasn’t actually James_ , she tells herself, _he was brainwashed. It wasn’t actually him_.

She breathes in shakily. _It wasn’t him_.)

Tony is still 26 and Natasha is still 30 when Tony finds out the truth of how their parents died.

His eyes turn into steel and his walls build themselves back up. “Fuck off, Rogers,” he snarls, words turning into knives trying to find a chink in Steve’s armor. He starts to walk off, but he’s stopped when Steve grabs his wrist. As much as he struggles, he’s no match for Steve’s enhanced strength. “Let go.” His eyes flash dangerously and the bracelet on his other wrist beeps, ready to call the Iron Man armor.

“Tony, he was brainwashed–used by HYDRA,” Steve desperately says, staring Tony in the eyes in hopes that those words would sway Tony’s feelings.

“He killed my _mom_ –” Tony’s voice cracks on the last word.

Steve shakes Tony’s wrist, tugging him closer. “It wasn’t him. He was being used as a weapon. Tony, please,” he pleads.

Tony blinks wetly. “Does Natasha know?” he asks quietly.

Steve nods, confused. “She–she does. Why?”

Something blazes in Tony’s eyes. “She told you to tell me, didn’t she?” His tone is borderline accusatory. “Would you have told me if she didn’t ask you to?” he asks, searching Steve’s eyes. He wants his answer to be yes. He wants to know that his trust in Steve wasn’t misplaced, because honestly? This is… this is a fucking _mess_.

Steve stays silent.

He lets Tony’s wrist slip out of his hand as Tony walks away.

(“He told you,” Natasha bluntly says as she enters Tony’s lab, J.A.R.V.I.S turning down the Metallica blasting from the speakers.

Tony throws a screwdriver across the room, probably breaking something that costs more than what most people make in a month. “I wish he didn’t. Could’ve–could’ve just left me in blissful ignorance.” He angrily runs a hand through his hair, curling into himself.

Natasha walks over, picking up a screwdriver for herself. “You would’ve wanted to know, Tony. Don’t lie to yourself.” Like Tony, she throws it. Except this time, it embeds itself into the wall, startling Tony. “Steve was right. It wasn’t him.”

“How can you defend him?!” Tony explodes, standing up from his stool so quickly it knocks over.

“Because I’m not being a _child_ , Tony!” Natasha snaps back, heart squeezing when Tony flinches and steps back, nearly tripping over the stool. “I told you–Steve’s been telling you–it wasn’t James. I know you’re angry. I was angry. But, Tony… you can’t blame him for this.”

He looks away, jaw clenching. “Just go.”

“Antoshka–”

“ _Go_!”)

Tony is 27 and Natasha is 31 when Steve brings Bucky home.

She finds herself getting quite close to the ex-assassin. She helps him adjust to the modern era, whether that means accompanying him whenever he ventures outside or simply making a list of his basic needs. Sometimes they spar; it’s nice to be able to test her skills against someone on the same level.

(Tony is still awkward around the other man. Outside of regular arm maintenance sessions, the most Bucky gets from him is stilted smiles and jokes that fall flat. It’s enough to make even her cringe.)

“How… how can I get Tony to be more comfortable around me?” Bucky asks quietly, swirling a glass of orange juice as the both of them stand in the communal kitchen.

Natasha raises an eyebrow as she looks at him. Where in the world did that question come from? “You just have to give him time.”

However, that seems like the wrong answer as a gentle crease forms between his brows. “Give him time? After what I did to him, I don’t think all the time in the world could help.” He lets out a breathy laugh, sounding near hysterical at the thought of Tony disliking him.

She has to bite her tongue to prevent herself from saying that she warmed up to Bucky just fine even after what he did. “Why do you seem to care so much?” she asks, genuinely curious. “You’ve never tried to talk to him before.”

Bucky shuffles on his feet, flushing just slightly. “He’s kind,” he starts, “an’ generous. From what I’ve seen, he’s… he’s a real hero.” He rubs the back of his neck with his free hand, already sufficiently embarrassed. “He doesn’t deserve to be scared in his own house.” Vulnerability shines through his voice.

Natasha thinks there’s more to it than just that, but she leaves it be. “He’ll come around.”

Tony is still 27 and Natasha is still 31 when Tony starts coming around. (Natasha’s refuses to take credit for it.)

It starts as Tony actively trying to converse with Bucky more, seeming determined to talk to him for longer than 10 seconds. His smiles become less and less forced, and his jokes actually get a laugh now. Hell, sometimes he even brings Bucky coffee in the mornings (though it’s obvious that Tony himself hasn’t slept yet).

Routine arm maintenance used to take 10 minutes; Bucky could go down to the lab and come back up before the commercial breaks for Cake Boss are over, but now? It drags on for hours as they talk and talk and talk about anything and everything they can think of. Bucky always comes back up with a lovesick look on his face (and Clint and Sam razz him about it any chance they get).

Tony even starts to invite Bucky to the Lord of the Rings and Star Wars marathons he hosts for a local community center near weekly; in fact, he starts calling himself Bucky’s official teacher on the pop culture of the 21st century. It’s not unusual to walk in on Tony excitedly explaining the plot of Stargate Atlantis or giving a basic rundown on the accuracies and inaccuracies used in shows like Star Trek to Bucky.

And Bucky listens to all of it, a smitten smile on his face.

Their shoulders and elbows touch whenever they sit together on the couch. They trade whispers and shy smiles like they’re the only people in the room. Bucky looks at Tony like he hangs the sun, while Tony looks at Bucky like he’s the moon and stars all wrapped up in one person.

It’s so obvious to everyone but them.

(“Do you think Buck’ll ever make a move?” Steve whispers to Natasha, sounding like a tired older brother as he glances at Bucky and Tony get close to each other on the couch and start their oft-talked about Mythbusters session. “Hell, do you think _either_ of them’ll make a move?”

The corner of Natasha’s mouth curls up. “I doubt it.” She knows the both of them. They’d rather do a little dance around each other until the day they die than confront the other about their feelings.

Steve’s eyes hood, unamused. “Yeah. I doubt it too.”)

Tony is still 27 and Natasha is still 31 when Bucky tells Natasha how he feels (as if she didn’t already know the second Bucky threw those heart-eyes in Tony’s direction).

“He’s _gorgeous_ , Natasha,” Bucky groans during one of their yoga sessions. He blows a strand of hair out of his face, grumbling something about ponytails and their uselessness.

Natasha hums, lowering her pelvis down to the ground, switching to the cobra pose. “He is handsome, isn’t he?”

Bucky follows her lead. Something in his back pops, and he hopes it’s a good kind of pop and not the you-messed-something-up- _bad_ pop. “He has–he has the prettiest eyes I’ve ever seen.” Natasha glances at him, expression unreadable, and he stiffens. “I mean, uh…” He thinks back to what the other Avengers have whispered about Natasha and Tony and frowns. “…You don’t–”

“I don’t have a crush on Tony, no,” Natasha says, irritated. God, they really need to tell the others soon. She loves Tony, she really does, but not like that. Ew. “You’re good for him, though.”

Bucky nods, his hair bun wagging up and down. He didn’t even know that he was searching for Natasha’s approval, but he feels so much better now that he has it. “Thanks. I’m… I’m hoping that I can make him happy.”

(Then he clears his throat. “So, I guess you wouldn’t mind if I said that he had a nice butt?” he tries to joke, but Natasha can tell he’s being serious.

A significantly more taxing, intense regime pops up in her mind. Totally a coincidence, she swears.)

Tony is still 27 and Natasha is still 31 when they decide to tell the Avengers the truth.

Pepper is there for moral support, holding Natasha’s hand and whispering encouragements into her ear.

“Oh, man,” Clint mumbles, fiddling with an arrow he retrieved from his quiver. “So, those rumors… oh man, that’s bad.” He refuses to look either Tony or Natasha in the eye, instead settling for staring at his scuffed boots.

Tony snorts. “Yeah. It is. We’ve been meaning to tell you guys, it’s just that we keep forgetting. Y’know, ‘cause we’re idiots–” Natasha gives him the stink eye– “uh, actually, I’m the idiot. I’m the only idiot.”

“It makes sense,” Bruce says, twiddling his thumbs. “You two are too close to be just friends, but you two are obviously not like that. Yeah, I see it.”

Tony beams at Bruce. “I always knew you were the ~~smart~~ one, Brucie!”

Bucky, meanwhile, seems to be having a breakdown in the corner of the room. Steve is trying futilely to calm him down. “I shouldn’t have said that,” he cringes, face scrunching up.

“Said what?” Steve tilts his head to the side.

“I told… I told Natasha I thought Tony had a nice butt,” Bucky admits, head hanging low.

But he must’ve said that louder than he thought because everyone turns around to look at him. Bruce manages to look sympathetic, but Clint and Sam are wheezing and slapping their knees. Thor looks like he might die of embarrassment along with Bucky–a side-effect of being empathetic, Bucky supposes.

“You think I have a nice butt?” Tony blurts out, cheeks turning a rosy red.

Before Bucky can reply, Natasha stands up. He gulps and all but leaps out of his seat. “I’m gonna go–” he breathes out, sounding terrified– “I’m gonna go!” Steve can only watch as Bucky bolts out of the room, hair frazzled and his jacket slipping off of one of his shoulders.

Natasha cackles as she sits back down.

Tony is 29 and Natasha is 33 when some aliens land on earth demanding the Infinity Stones.

Despite Bucky and Natasha’s protests, Tony hops on one of their spaceships.

And doesn’t come back down.

Tony is still 29 and Natasha is still 33 when she witnesses everyone around her turning to ash.

She wonders how she’s going to tell Tony about Sam. About _Bucky_. She chokes on her grief.

Looking up at the sky, she hopes that Tony was spared–she hopes that he’s _alive_.

When Steve tries to talk to her, all that comes out is a sob.

Her tears hit the forest floor.

Tony is still 29 and Natasha is still 33 when he finally makes his way back down to Earth after near a goddamn _month_ of being missing.

Rhodey and Pepper rush to his side. _Thin_ , is the first thing that pops into her mind, _far too thin_. The next thing is how much good a heaping plateful of Maria’s _risotto_ would do him. She shakes her head at that thought and jogs over to join the trio.

(”Nat,” Tony croaks, sagging into her side as she takes Steve’s place. “Nat.” He looks up at her through thin eyelashes, his cheeks sunken, with a sickly grey undertone to his skin. “You’re okay.”

“I am okay,” she whispers, frowning as she wraps one of her hands around Tony’s wrists. _Definitely too thin_.)

Tony is still 29 and Natasha is still 33 when all of them start to look for a way to reverse the snap.

Natasha watches as Tony slaves over some blueprint, hooked up to an IV drip. Trying to get him to eat, drink, or rest is near impossible short of shoving the food and water down his throat or sedating him. He squints at the holographic screen in front of him before yelling, frustrated, and swiping it all away.

She gets up and walks over to him as he curls up into a ball in his wheelchair. “Let Bruce take a crack at it.”

“It’s outside his area of expertise,” he mumbles, form shivering slightly.

“I know. But you at least get a break.”

(”Are you… really doing okay, Nat?” Tony asks around his mouthful of peanut butter sandwich. It was less of a struggle to get Tony to eat this time around, but Natasha suspects it largely might have been out of pity.

She pauses with her glass of water halfway to her mouth. “Am I fine?” she ponders. All those people. Gone. The family that she’s built up. Gone. She could’ve done more. Something. Anything to spare them all from the pain of losing a loved one–a spouse, child, sibling.

She takes a sip, closes her eyes, and recomposes herself. “Yes.”)

Tony is 32 and Natasha is 36 when they take a small stroll down to the convenience store that’s only being kept open due to its diligent owner and the fact that Tony drops a couple hundred bucks in there every time they go.

“Can I ask you something?” Tony picks up a Snickers bar and turns it over, checking under the flap for the expiration date. Even with half the world gone, they’re still pretty careful with stocking non-expired products, but Tony doesn’t particularly feel like gambling today.

Natasha hums, throwing every variety of Lays into her shopping basket.

“When are you gonna propose to Pep already?” He lets the question rush out before ducking behind the shelves. He’s learned to never underestimate the force at which Natasha can throw things, not even when it comes to cellophane bags that are more air than actual product.

“Tony!” she growls, going on her tiptoes to look over the aisles and find the tell-tale tousle of Tony’s hair. She finds him cowering next to the Sour Patch Kids and launches a well-aimed bag of barbecue flavored chips at his head.

“Just propose!” he whoops, laughing as the bag bounces off of his head and tumbles down onto the floor.

She joins in on his happiness, and in the back of her mind she realizes how much she misses this. How much she misses being normal. Or as normal as someone like her can get, anyway.

(”We should get married,” Natasha casually says as she and Pepper lounge on the couch, watching old, old videos on YouTube.

Startled, Pepper jolts upright, looking at Natasha with wide eyes and her mouth agape. “Are you– are you being serious?” She looks like she’s torn between kissing Natasha senseless or yelling at her because _what kind of proposal is_ that.

“Not right now, of course, because I know you would want to invite everybody…” she trails off, the ‘everybody who was dusted’ lingering in the air. “But we should, at a point.”

“Do I at least get a ring?” Pepper ribs.

Natasha shows off a kiwi-flavored Ring Pop. “Brand new. In its wrapper, even.”)

Tony is 34 and Natasha is 38 when Tony bursts into her and Pepper’s room in the middle of the night, eyes wide and bright off of the high of a brand new discovery.

“You won’t believe this!” he exclaims as he excitedly jumps into their bed like he’s 10 again and trying to wake Natasha up on Christmas morning. “You won’t– _I_ can barely believe it!”

Pepper grunts, displeased, while Natasha’s eyes flutter open. She’s known Tony long enough to know that he won’t stop babbling unless someone sits down and listens to him. “What?” Her voice is rough from sleep, and she can barely see past the blur in her eyes, but that doesn’t stop Tony from tugging her up into a sitting position.

“You remember Scott?” He’s breathless, giddy. “His entire time travel thing?”

She nods slowly. “Yes. You called it bullshit.”

“Except that it isn’t!” He points, index finger trembling, towards the wide open door, a pale blue light washing over the doorframe. “I think… I think I figured it out.”

Natasha scrambles out of bed so quickly that she nearly knocks Tony off and pulls on one of Pepper’s jackets that’s hanging over a chair. “Show me,” she says, voice stained with hope.

Tony smiles.

(”Antoshka,” she breathes out, fondness seeping through in every syllable of the endearment. “This is amazing.” Her eyes roam every inch of the blueprint, hungrily soaking up every single detail from the notes written in tiny font to the side of the screen to the giant, green text proclaiming the success rate to be 99.9%.

He engulfs her in a sudden hug, and, as soon as it happens, it’s over, his hands resting on the sides of her biceps. “We can bring them back!” His eyes shine, and she too begins to feel a prickling behind her eyes.

“We can bring them back,” she repeats, grinning proudly.)

Tony is still 34 and Natasha is still 38 when they get the time machine up and running, having spent countless hours engrossed in heavy lifting and wire connecting.

They have a plan. 3 teams. 6 stones. 1 chance.

“Come back safe.” Pepper presses a gentle kiss on Natasha’s cheek, tucking a lock of red-blond hair behind her ear. “Bring them back. We’re going to have a summer wedding.”

“I fully expect to be the best man!” Tony pipes up from where he’s talking with Steve and Rhodey, looking at the both of them with a hint of wistfulness in his eyes.

Pepper smiles at him, biting her bottom lip like she always does. “We wouldn’t have anyone else.”

Natasha draws her in for another kiss.

(”Vormir, right?” Clint twirls his sword.

Natasha nods. “That’s where we find the soul stone. Rhodey and Nebula will take care of the power stone.”

If Nebula’s jaw clenches at the mention of Vormir, of 2 of her teammates going there, not fully knowing the price that is to be paid, no one notices.)

Tony is still 34 and Natasha is still 38 when Natasha and Clint land on Vormir and are faced with an agonizing choice.

They argue for what feels like hours, trying to justify why it should be them and not the other, until they stand together, forehead to forehead in one last comforting gesture.

Then, Clint flips her onto her back, knocking the wind out of her. “Tell my family I love them,” he says, ready to start running towards the cliff.

Natasha turns the tables, bringing him down harder and faster. “Tell them yourself.” She sprints, braid whipping in the wind.

It’s a scuffle, a full-on brawl as they try to beat the other to the edge, to be the one who gives their life for the salvation of the universe. Clint gets close, so, _so_ close. He can taste the ice in the air, the snow, the iron that’ll fill his mouth once his head makes contact with the ground. He jumps.

Natasha tackles him, slaps the other end of her grappling hook on Clint’s waist and comes to an abrupt stop as Clint holds onto her wrist in a death grip, keeping the both of them suspended in the air, braced against the cliffside. “Damn you,” he chokes out, pulse racing. He reaches out towards her with his free hand, but the stress on his hip is too much, too _painful_ , he retracts it, holding back onto the wire of the grappling hook.

She looks behind her, at the ground below. “Let me go,” she says. There’s no fear in her eyes, and that scares Clint shitless. She looks reassuring, accepting, expecting.

“No.” He grimaces, the strain of keeping both himself and Natasha from plummeting starting to take its toll. He’ll hold onto her all day if he has to. Some of the others will come. They’ll find another way. There has to be another way. “Please, no.”

She nods softly, understandingly. “It’s okay.” He can barely hear her over the blood rushing in his ears, but her words just serve for him to tighten his grip more.

Before he can react, she kicks off of the cliffside, tearing her wrist from Clint’s grasp.

He’s forced to watch as she falls.

(The wind rushes around her, cold and biting. Her heart threatens to leap out of her chest. Clint becomes nothing more than a speck in her vision.

She spreads her arms, thoughts racing at a million miles per hour in her head. No goodbyes, no apologies. People like her don’t get happy endings. She was foolish for thinking that she might have been the exception.

She hopes that Pepper will forgive her. She hopes that Tony will forgive her. She hopes.

In her last second, she thinks only of her family.

And she smiles.)

Tony is still 34 and Natasha is– Natasha is… when they come back.

Tony’s the first one to notice. “Where’s Nat?” He tilts his head to the side in question. Could she be running late? A bit odd, but given how experimental this entire process is, it’s not entirely implausible.

But Clint looks at him with so much sorrow and grief and apology in his eyes, his jaw wound shut so tightly that Tony’s almost afraid he might turn his teeth into dust. He thinks he knows what might have happened. He hopes to god that he’s wrong. “Clint?” he ventures again, “where’s Natasha?”

Clint looks away, his adam’s apple bobbing and throat clicking as he swallows.

That’s all Tony needs. His hands start to tremble and terrible, hiccuping sobs start to pour out of his throat as his eyes glue themselves onto the ground. His knees buckle, and he would’ve fallen onto the ground had it not been for Steve’s steadying hands.

After all they’ve been through.

He didn’t even get to say goodbye.

(Pepper shoves her face into the crook of his neck, bawling her eyes out as she hugs him fiercely, like he might disappear too. Her snot and tears get all over the fabric, but instead of being disgusted, he rubs her back soothingly, his own tears rolling down his cheeks. He can’t help but to think that it should’ve been him instead.

As he holds Pepper in his arms, he wonders, briefly, if this was how Natasha felt whenever she’d comfort him after a bad dream or when Howard was a bit too harsh. “We’re gonna be okay,” he croons.

It doesn’t really hit him until he’s staring out over a lake with the other Avengers that Natasha is well and truly gone. She’s not gonna tease him anymore. She’s not gonna be the one to listen to his incessant ramblings when no one else will. She’s not gonna make him her signature _borscht_ or spends hours with him eating pepperoni pizza and watching trashy reality TV.

He’s known her for all of his life.

When she died, a piece of him did too.)

Tony is still 34 and Natasha is dead and gone, and she’s never coming back when Thanos comes into the future with his dumb golden armor after Bruce snapped his fingers using the gauntlet Tony built in his basement–take a goddamn seat, Thanos.

Everyone comes back.

(Except Natasha.)

Everyone helps.

(Except Natasha.)

Everyone is relieved to see each other again.

(Except Natasha.)

He fights, just a touch too much on the side of recklessness, blasting and carving and flying his way through swaths of Outriders. He falls. He gets bent, dented, bruised, and scraped, but he finds his way. He even manages to give Bucky a relieved kiss when they cross paths.

Carol is close to the time-machine-van when Thanos issues his orders to _blow everything up_. He braces himself as he lands on his stomach.

The Gauntlet tumbles and tumbles and Thanos reaches for it, but he tackles him, effectively buying them some precious few seconds before being punched back out. He glances at the good, ol’ Doctor Strange out of the corner of his eye while Thor and Carol are busy doing what they do.

Strange holds up one scarred finger, and Tony knows exactly what he’s supposed to do.

He rushes at Thanos and fumbles with the Gauntlet. He’s pushed away, flat on his ass as Thanos smirks, relishing in his victory over the weak Terrans. “I am inevitable,” he taunts.

 _Snap_.

Nothing.

Tony holds up his right hand, the Infinity Stones taking hold in his makeshift gauntlet as their power courses through his body. 1 chance. “And I–” he takes a rattling breath– “am Iron Man.”

He snaps his fingers.

Tony is still 34 and Natasha is waiting on the other side for him as he sits against the metal carcass of a ship.

Rhodey has tears free falling down his face as he places an armored hand over Tony’s left cheek, and Tony would laugh, tease his platypus about being so emotional over him if he wasn’t in so much fucking _pain_. His entire right side is burnt so badly it’s numb, and the nerves that haven’t fully died yet are giving off _yeah, we’re hurt super goddamn badly_ signals.

He can’t even talk.

Bucky and Pepper rush over, and Jesus Christ, Bucky basically slides on his knees for the last couple of feet. “He’ll be fine,” Bucky says, although it’s more of a statement than a question. Figures that Tony would fall in love with the one person who’s more stubborn than he is.

Pepper shakes her head and reaches out to grab Bucky’s metal hand with her own. She doesn’t say anything, just reaches out to rub at Tony’s shoulder.

“He’ll be fine,” Bucky insists.

Tony starts to slip, slip, and slip, his breaths becoming more ragged and his chest becoming tighter. His vision starts to fade, and he feels… peaceful. Like all of this weight has been lifted off of his shoulders.

“He’s at rest,” Pepper whispers.

The last thing he registers is Bucky’s chapped lips pressing against his forehead.

Tony was 34 and Natasha was 38 when they saved the world.

Somewhere, they meet again.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Feel free to hit me up on tumblr @ [hawkbucks](https://hawkbucks.tumblr.com)!


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